


For Thou Art with Me

by mopsi



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Western, Christianity, F/F, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Gun Violence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mopsi/pseuds/mopsi
Summary: Asuka, a wayward rider, arrives in town. She meets Shinji, a mousy bartender; Misato, a charming, worldly salon keeper; and Rei, a rich, beautiful rancher's daughter, who she can't imagine she can possibly have anything in common with...





	1. Tumbleweed

**Author's Note:**

> It’s 1890. The location is a fictitious town of Castela, population 200, somewhere in California-Nevada-Arizona in the proximity of the Sonoran Desert and Mexican border. The area is subtropical, with warm winters and hot summers. But the area is supposed to be fantastical, spaghetti-western style. 
> 
> The town is located along a road from Las Vegas to Hermosillo, Sonora, Mexico, but quite far from the main route, and fruit gardens and horses as well as cattle are the main providers in the area. Mountains, canyons and rocky hills are typical, and ranches carrying a plentiful variation of fruit are bound to be found along rivers or other sources of water; lowland, where not too dry, is reserved for food production, largely pasturing cattle. Aside from farmers, miners and bypassers in need of supplies and entertainment keep the town living, if not particularly busy. Nowadays, tourism will be the main source of income; hotels, golf courses and spas will scatter the area, and casinos will thrive. 
> 
> The Sonoran Desert is infamous for hopeful border-crossers from Mexico to California and vice versa, because the border-spanning desert has never been very thoroughly patrolled. Crossing the desert is dangerous, because it demands 3-5 days of walking in extreme conditions.

Afternoon sun shines mercilessly on town like it is wont to do even in April. The saloon is quiet this early, save for the regular perma-thirsty folk and a new face: a gal with red-hot hair dusty from a long ride.

Shinji sets down a glass of whisky in front of the guest, who has introduced herself as Asuka. It is sickeningly quiet, because the pianist got shot last week, and Shinji has come to realize he needs a distraction. The drunkard bar owner has disappeared somewhere, and the bartender feels no desire to know what she is doing and with whom.

Asuka shows her teeth as a way of thanks. Her glare invites no small talk, so Shinji cashes her in with a meek “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Got bunks up in this hole?” she asks, abrasively.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shinji squeaks. “Ms. Misato will show you a room when she comes back. Please take a seat while you wait.”

* * *

Ritsuko is splayed on the bed, halfway dressed; her corset was too much to remove for her before, but she feels this may have been a mistake with the woman kneeling over her and weighing on her diaphragm. By some wonder, Misato made short work of her own and presently pulls the garment - along with the chemise under - off her gorgeous body; heavy breasts fall on her chest, nipples wantonly dark and perked.

Misato’s waist is amazingly narrow even when unbound; little streaks from the pressure of the corset have left quickly vanishing stripes on her skin. The waist disappears within her white drawers; the hips are widened with her position, and the fabric dips down the stomach, revealing the V-shape below the belt.

It is a distracting sight, but Ritsuko is proud of her concentration skills.

“Get off me you goddamn bull of a woman,” she pants. She reaches for Misato’s waist and shoves.

“Make me,” Misato snarls, unfazed, and grabs Ritsuko’s wrists.

“Oh, I intend to,” Ritsuko snaps back. Misato tries to pin Ritsuko down by the hands, but Ritsuko has other plans; Misato may be stronger than her and might win the arm wrestling match, alone, but Ritsuko uses her agility and nerves to juggle Misato off-balance. The short struggle ends with Misato’s defeat (partially due to her inebriation) and she falls down on the bed with a thud. Her hands are pinned above her head; she mumbles a soft curse.

“Dirty mouth, that,” Ritsuko says, half-smirking. She feels giddy for her victory and for Misato’s wrists engulfed within her fingers. Not to mention the heat she can feel beginning to build between her own legs. Her friend is such a treat, whether topping or bottoming, but teasing her makes one feel like a god. Ritsuko bends down, and her breath feathers warmly against Misato’s cheek, now only an inch away; she causes a moan when she coos; “You should go back to school and learn some more ladylike manners.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Misato says.

“See? You’re eager to prove my point,” Ritsuko says.

Misato’s words came straight from the heart by the sight of it: her face has gone pink, and her chest heaves. Her dark irises have gone another shade towards black when she looks at Ritsuko through her lashes. Her eyes shine with a deliberately tempting subordination.

Ritsuko knows she will follow Misato’s demand, but she feels no hurry anymore. She could do with a little bit more of this feeling of control, and Misato would appreciate it, too. _You can’t just follow other people’s whims like that, can you?_ she smiles to herself.

She pushes a knee, still clothed in fine cotton, between Misato’s legs, forcing them open on the way; Ritsuko inches all the way up to the opening in her drawers. The fabric ends there, and sinful softness and warmth meet Ritsuko’s knee. Misato is wet; her soft “oh” sends a rush of power through Ritsuko and makes a knot of heat tighten at the pit of her stomach. She is grateful for Misato letting her in, for getting to observe and manipulate her pleasure like this. Misato is so expressive, her every look, movement, sound enhancing the desire in the other. It is impossible to not feel needed and desired while having sex with Misato.

Ritsuko lets go of Misato’s hands, and the lady underneath shows no signs of resistance now, only moves her hips in little circles to get more of the contact. Ritsuko needs to see her, all of her, and to have her; she tugs at the fastening string in Misato’s drawers and pulls them off. Then she kneels up to briskly remove her own and tosses the two pairs into a bundle somewhere.

“Lift your hips. Higher,” Ritsuko demands on a low, predatory tone. “Open your legs wide. Oh, that’s a nice sight. Stay still,” she says. Misato is stark naked, her back on an arch when she supports her body weight with her feet, her shoulders. Splayed wide like that, in the raw light of the afternoon, no detail is left unseen: the curve of her ass with the bud of the anus; her slit as beautifully formed as the rest of her. Misato smells of womanhood, sweet and salty, a thick and thrilling scent hanging in the room. Her labia is pink and her clit glistens from her arousal from between the raven curls. She pants slightly and her breasts, which rolled to the side and down towards her neck from her humbling position, undulate with the rhythm of her needy breathing.

Ritsuko can hardly wait longer. She glides a leg under Misato’s back and inches closer, teasing her with the slowness of the motion. Her own similarly-moistened bush touches Misato’s in the barest of contact, making them both shiver. Misato bites her lip and growls.

“Cocktease,” she complains.

“Slut,” Ritsuko says, cruelly, looking Misato straight in the eye. Misato moans out loud, and at that moment, Ritsuko pushes her crotch in direct contact with Misato’s and starts rocking against her with abandon.

Sounds of pleasure echo in the motel of the saloon.

* * *

A blue roan draft horse pulls a cart along the road, southeast, to the town. His master in the reins is a gentleman in his forties, fifties, dressed in a top hat and grey pinstripes, and spectacles adorn his face. He has a groomed, Lincoln-fashioned beard.

Next to him, sitting primly on the padded leather seat, is a young lady in a light summer outfit, fine white cotton with lace, guarding her fair skin with a parasol.

It is hot, but Rei isn’t even warm. She holds onto the parasol like she has forgotten she has it. Her hair is white, which is even weirder because her father’s is almost black. The two are an odd dance of monochrome hues, but her ice-blue eyes shine like gems.

There is a pony of a warm chestnut and white color tied at a pole by the saloon entrance. It drinks from a water manger to quench its thirst.

“A red paint mare,” Gendo says. “I dislike the color, however common in the West.” Gendo explains gently to his companion, “The American paint horse is half wild; see how it looks smart, but too alert to be properly trained? This is a breed not entirely suitable for those purposes, but very loyal once you gain its trust. It excels in hard work and racing, long distance as well as sprint.”

“Yes, Father,” Rei says.

“What do you think of that?” Gendo asks.

“It is unfortunate that you don’t like her,” she says, quietly.

Gendo hums. “Hoo boy,” he says to their horse, then, to stop their cart.

The gentleman gets up from the driver’s seat and ties the horse reins tightly to the knob in the dash board, for the horse to know to remain unmoving. He pats the horse for a job well done, then goes around the cart’s other side to help Rei climb down.

A young boy, who looks about ten years old, is playing on the street. Gendo waves him closer. “Do you know the horse shelter next door?”

“Yes, sir, ‘course I do. Take care of the horses sometimes, m’self,” the boy says brightly. “Sir,” he adds in afterthought.

“Would you like a quarter? Take my horse there and have him groomed and fed oats? I’ll pay the stall keeper tonight,” Gendo says.

“Sure,” the boy says, delighted for the job opportunity, and Gendo pays him.

Rei waits at the saloon porch.

The saloon is brightly lit by the sun coming in through the windows and around the swing doors, so in the main hall no other illumination is used at this time of day; for someone coming in from the blinding sunlight it appears almost dark for a few seconds, until their eyes adjust to it. The bar counter is to the left from the entry, windows to the right and at the back. Next to the bar, an inconspicuous staircase ascends to second floor.

Opposite to the bar counter, there is an empty piano stool standing in front of a honky-tonk piano, with extra lanterns attached, suggesting a merry mood. The narrow hall leads to a wider space at the back, with a dozen-or-so tables. The walls are painted white, with gold-framed paintings and photographs, red and gold curtains draped around windows, creating a luxurious atmosphere while letting all the light in. For the evening, gas lamps have been tactfully arranged around the room. It would surprise a traveling city dweller: the feel inside the town saloon is almost cosmopolitan.

A lady in a maroon dress is talking to a customer; she has a wasp’s waist and an ample neckline that lonely cowboys would write home about. Her appearance is otherwise neat, but her raven hair has a case of serious bedhead, though it still somehow manages to look gorgeous cascading down her long, white neck.

“Let me make one thing clear: we are a respectable place with a reputation to hold, and I will host no troublemakers,” she explains, in a manner that is both pleasant and impossible to talk back to. “There will be no shooting, no swearing at the presence of ladies, no bullying Shinji…”

“What exactly do you mean by the ladies part? Are you questioning my gender identity?”

Misato looks like she wants to bite a finger, but she just smiles widely and turns to the door that Gendo is holding open for Rei. “Excuse me a moment. Welcome, Mr. Ikari. Miss Ikari, dear, you look lovely today. Please, both of you, go ahead and get seated. Shinji, get a coffee for the gentleman and a lemonade for the lady, on the house,” she says, before turning back to the redhead cowgirl. “This way, honey.” She turns and beckons with her finger, but Asuka takes her time.

Rei has stepped beside the piano to not block the way of possible new customers. She is folding her parasol. The light glows from the doorway around her soft linen hair, making it look like a halo, and her eyes move to and from what she is doing. She’s looking directly at Asuka now, and her blue eyes aren’t curious or judgemental, nor is her gaze a mindless stare; she just looks, her face unreadable and serious, and Asuka somehow feels she is seen. Not just looked at, but _seen_.

Asuka is annoyingly conscious of her own disheveled state now: a terrible dust coating that has felt like home for too long, hair a mess, clothing serviceable if no way made to please the eye.

“Hello,” she manages to say. _Idiot_ , she tells herself.

“Good afternoon,” the girl responds automatically.

Her voice is clear, but quiet. It’s like glass, polished, uncolored.

Asuka tears her eyes away and follows Misato towards the stairs, stride even shaggier than usual.

They meet a woman in the staircase. Her blonde hair has been cut to neck length, but it’s been neatly combed. Her fingers are slender on the railing, eyes observant, cold. She has a white shirt and a grey-blue striped skirt, suggesting that she has a sophisticated, working woman’s position. Misato greets her with a grin, but the woman only nods coolly in response.

Asuka gets a once-over from the blonde, and by habit Asuka’s hand rests pointedly on her hip. The gesture is widely recognized as one of aggression for the proximity of the gun belt. Their eyes drift to separate directions.

Asuka’s room has a street view. It’s plain, no frilly nonsense here: wide floor planks, shiny from tons of walking and cleaning; a neat bed, a drawer with a wash-basin stand, and thick white curtains with which to block out the sun as necessary. The window almost directly faces a church. It has been painted white; a clock is installed on the gable, below the bell tower.

Asuka clicks her tongue. Forty minutes to the 4PM toll… at least the time is hard to miss.

“I’ll be back shortly, Miss Asuka,” Misato says and leaves the room. True to her word, she’s soon back with a zinc bathtub, which she lays on the rug. “I’ll see to the tub being filled now. Enjoy your stay, alright?” She tilts her head. Asuka can’t make up her mind on whether it makes her look adorable or like a goofy idiot. Both. Both is good.

There are many frustrating things in living in civilization, but who can even love just rattlesnakes and coyotes, sleeping in your bedroll on plain cliffs, bathing in the mountains in freezing water that gurgles down from the snowy peaks, water that fully wakes you up with shock when you splash it on your face in the morning. Well, you can get used to everything… but you could certainly live with this, Asuka thinks, when she lathers up with hotel soap that smells impersonal but still very much clean, in the heated water she paid for.

Asuka thinks she must be getting old.

When she _is_ old, she will live in town. She will go to work that allows her to bathe every week if she chooses. A bath every Saturday, wouldn’t that be something? Or maybe she’ll own a business, so that she won’t have to move a muscle, leave working twelve-hour days to young folk. She’ll be able to pay for a little house with fancy carton… curta… blinds in the windows. She’ll - she’ll wear dresses, white dresses with soft cotton and lace, like the rich lady downstairs. With all sorts of useless underthings.

Whoever she is, is none of her business. Don’t interfere with somethin’ that ain’t botherin’ you none, as they say. Because whatever ladies like that need, it ain’t wild bobcats like herself bouncing around trying to chat them up. In front of her dad, no less.

Well, Asuka sighs. Sitting here won’t be getting her a job, nor is she going to enjoy it for very long. She reaches for the bucket of bath supplies she got: it contains the soap and a sponge, a number of things she isn’t sure what to do with (like razoring supplies and a bottle of dry powder labeled “talc”) and a hair brush. With brusque movements, she tames her damp hair into some resemblance of order. The clothing brush does wonders to refresh her clothes; once she is all done, she feels as clean as a hound’s tooth.

Cross-draughts slam the door shut behind her. It doesn’t cause much of a disturbance, though, because the saloon hall is filling up with footsteps, laughter, well-mannered but not particularly quiet chatting, and the tingling and clinking of glasses and tableware. The crowd feels a little intimidating, so Asuka takes a quick look around from her elevated position up the stairs. The bar counter is busy with clients. A company is sitting around a big table, drinking and playing cards. Two to three tables are occupied with people at dinner: mash, beef, and peas by the sight of it, and Asuka realizes her stomach is gurgling demandingly. It’s settled: crowd be screwed, she’ll order their biggest thing of beans. It’s way cheaper and she’s on a little bit of a budget here.

It takes her a minute to realize there’s a customer sitting alone in a two-seat corner table, beside a window at the very back. She’s unmoving, sitting up with her back straight, her petite frame illuminated with afternoon light, reflecting off her white dress.

 _Miss… Ikari?_ The name surfaces in Asuka’s mind. Where has her dad gone off to? The girl doesn’t seem bored, as such, but she certainly doesn’t have anything to do either, embroidery or whatever the hell it is ladies of her standing do all day. She has her glass of lemonade in front of her. The girl has barely taken a sip. Well, again, no business of Asuka’s.

Or then again... Asuka feels like this is going to need attention, after all. A band of men are approaching the lady and they apparently have lots to say to her.

The girl looks up to them, regarding them with no familiarity, no fear. She says something, and Asuka goes down the stairs, shuttles through the crowd, to hear what exactly is going on back here.

“I am not looking for company, gentlemen,” the girl says, probably for the third time. Her little voice is clear and audible, like a bell cutting through the stomping and mooing in a herd, but it is lost to the rampage.

“We ain’t seen no ladies in months, up in the mountains,” says the guy closest to the girl, a huge, bald man with hands like spades. He is drunk, obviously, but still stands and talks with no problems. “Come sit with us.” He leans on the table, his fingers way too close to Rei’s chest. “Or we can sit with you. I can get you - get you…” he fumbles for a moment before settling on the girliest drink he knows, “a whisky on soda. Yeah.” He is lifting his fingers to reach up to Rei’s upper arm, bare and white, a shade or two darker than her dress.

“Stop,” Asuka interrupts.

Five guys - and the girl - turn around to face her.

Instead of taking a bath, they have gone directly to dinner, cards and drinking. Miners, Asuka assumes - they are wearing jeans and jackets of the same material, well-worn and coated with road dust, but the grime underneath is from rock, not soil. They are tall and muscular, the lot of them; the shortest has three or four inches on Asuka.

“You hear me? She said no. You are drunk. Get lost.”

She spells this out like to a child, trying to make every word seep with authority. Asuka can see them watching, but the girl’s eyes on her weight much more than the threat.

“She’s a big rancher’s daughter. Biggest ranch in the county, hell knows if the state. You’ll be thrown out of town in nothing but tar and feathers.” She has nothing to support her claim, but wording the argument makes her realize how likely her assumption is.

It causes nervous shifting from two of them. But another two growl and Baldie laughs. He has a scarred face that makes him look ferocious, stressing his intent. “That cocksucker ain’t got nothin’ on me. We’re just havin’ a little fun. The girl isn’t doing a thing, she ain’t even nervous, see?” And his bear paws finally wrap around Rei’s upper arm, dragging her up. Rei looks like dead weight, barely putting up any resistance.

Asuka’s heart catches in her throat with fear and anger. _Scream!_ she tries to urge Rei with her thoughts, _run, do something!_ Baldie looks like he’s about to haul Rei towards the door. His pack seems nervous but determined. “That man is tryin’a compensate for something with all ‘em acres of his. You saying only inch-dicks can talk to a dame, huh?” he belly-laughs.

Goddamn, it’s like reasoning with an ox. Asuka’s gut clenches; she screwed up, they have hold of the girl now. Whatever her plan was. Where is everyone? Misato, Gendo, the sheriff? Why isn’t anyone else moving? Does everyone chicken out at the sight of a drunkard?

Just like that, Shinji scutters onto the scene. “Leave her alone,” he says. He sounds extremely young now, more desperate than authoritative. Well, that isn’t going to do any good.

“Oh, we were just going to take our leave,” the gang leader says. His hand moves closer to his revolver at his loin. “We wouldn’t wanna bother this… this house,” he says mock-nobly, “we’re just gon’take our leave and no one’s gonna come after us. Right, boy?”

Shinji swallows hollowly, but stands his ground. “Misato won’t stand for this. Nor will Mr. Ikari,” he reasons.

 _Good, you distract them,_ Asuka thinks. _Just keep at it a little bit longer. There, get between me and the men to my right. Now!_ She takes a dive for it, strikes the man closest to Shinji, the shortest of the bunch who still has a good twenty pounds on him, with her elbow into his stomach. The man stumbles back from shock; while that happens, she kicks the second man in row, the only one left between her and the hostage, in the nuts with her knee. The man “oof”s in pain and folds over, but Asuka doesn’t linger to admire her handiwork; her target is the mountain of the man with the girl in his paws. She hits him in the nerve point in his elbow, forcing his grip to loosen, and grabs Rei by the arm.

“Run!” Asuka exclaims. Shinji, Asuka and Rei scatter, stumbling towards the door. Shinji ducks below the bar counter that Asuka judged too unsafe, but the little mouse isn’t targeted this time.

Baldie shoots first. The bullet flies past Asuka; she figures it may have been reasonable, after all, for the other patrons to quietly dash out of sight.

Asuka runs with Rei along the street, pulling her behind herself; the girl really knows how to run, but lets herself be grabbed by the wrist and tugged along nonetheless. Asuka can feel firm muscle in Rei’s arm, and she isn’t even panting from running. Asuka hears another crack of a bullet on its extra-sonic flight past her. Asuka turns around and shoots, once, twice, three times.

Baldie falls on his knees; his fingers spasm around his own weapon’s trigger, and dust shoots up from the ground where the bullet hits it. He grasps his chest with his free hand, and slowly he collapses down and onto his face.

The other men look at the fallen figure in front of them and turn to run. “Witch!” they yell as they run, “Murderer!” but they go and don’t look back.

Asuka exhales and loosens her fingers, wrapped in a bruising grasp around Rei’s wrist. The girl slowly backs up. She looks at Asuka intensely. But the man behind them, who Asuka shot, when he is turned onto his back, no longer looks anywhere but dully up into the blistering sunshine. His hat has flown onto the street a little ways back. Rei goes, mechanically, to get the hat, when figures come running towards them.

“Rei!” Mr. Ikari shouts and takes her by the arms. “Are you alright? I heard shooting… What happened?” He turns to the body. Asuka is kneeling by the their assailant, whose chest is pierced right through with a bullet hole. One of the other shots hit his arm, but one missed. Asuka mumbles her apologies to the dead body who can no longer accept them.

“Yes Father, I am fine. This lady protected me. I’m afraid she killed my assailant. It was in self-defense.” It’s as though Rei notices she is talking too much, because she comes to an abrupt halt.

Gendo squeezes Rei’s upper arm as if to comfort her, or to make sure she’s still there, still safe. Other witnesses slowly crowd onto the street, young men and women squealing at the sight of a corpse.

Mr. Ikari takes his own top hat off his head and shoos the audience. “Someone get a medic. And a mortician,” he says, his tone grave and even, as if nothing shocking happened in the first place. Ms. Misato has come out and is looking at the scene from the porch of the saloon. She comes and takes Rei into her arms when the girl arrives to the porch with faltering steps, and leads her to another table - not her usual one - and goes to get her a glass of water, she says, while Asuka comes in with her hands in her pockets.

“It’s not like a law enforcer is to be available at this time here,” Mr. Gendo says, when the three of them seat themselves - he pulls a seat for Asuka, who fumbles into the seat slightly stumped at how to behave in such a situation - “so we have to deal with this ourselves. I believe it is clear by my daughter’s testimony, which I’m sure several witnesses can verify, that it was self-defense.” He pauses. “I’m severely in your debt, Miss.”

“Call me Asuka,” Asuka says.

“Is there something we can do to repay you, Miss Asuka?” Gendo asks.

“You can get me a job.” Asuka is serious about it. She needs to settle down somewhere, and this is as good a chance as any.

“Very well,” Gendo says, understanding. His arm is wrapped defensively around Rei’s shoulders. The girl sits there, unmoving, back straight, looking forwards with those large azure eyes. She looks like a caged bird. “I have a ranch up Northeast. Go to see my foreman and mention this discussion. I’m sure a position can be arranged.”

“Yeah, that’s the kind of thing I was after. Thanks,” Asuka says, and leans back into her seat with a sigh. “And now it might finally be time for a heaped plate of chili.”


	2. Roughage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asuka talks to her horse. Elsewhere, at the same time, Ritsuko seems to have something to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a new chapter. Thanks for being with me!

Castela is awake at dawn, the black of the skies turning into a dark blue first, then an eerie, greyish blue. The majestic greeting of the sun, its passing bloom half an hour later in the Eastern horizon, is not a pale golden crack yet, when Ritsuko closes the school building’s back door behind herself.

Ritsuko’s morning walk spans only a few streets. It’s a bakery, doors long since open, bright light comforting and easing one up to be wide awake. “Good morning, Isaiah,” Ritsuko greets. “How is your wife? I trust she and the baby are doing well?”

“Good morning, ma’am,” the baker says. “Both healthy and happy, I should say,” he adds, beaming with fondness. “Thank you ever so much for the flowers you got us; they made Rachel squeal a little.” He winks. “What can I get you?”

“Bread rolls, if you would?” Ritsuko says and hands in some change. She gets a full, brown paper bag. It radiates warmth and the smell of fresh bread.

Ritsuko has a little apartment at the attic of the school building; a steep staircase leads there from the school library. She has a kitchen, a bedroom, and a little drawing room for taking in guests, which she never does. Both the kitchen and the bedroom have a slanted roof that seems to be waiting for someone, unused to the measures, to get their head hit - as if Ritsuko would let something so mundane take her by surprise at any rate.

Ritsuko has the stove burning with a coffee pot waiting at the top of it. The water is hot, but not boiling; she moves it to the center of the stove to boil shortly, while she lays the table for the breakfast. She finds a bread basket and some china from the cupboard; she lines the basket with a fresh linen tea towel from beside the stove, and wraps the fresh bread rolls in it. She lays a jar of orange marmalade to the table, slipping a silver butter knife into it.

While that is done, the water is boiling; Ritsuko adds in the ground coffee and lets it foam in the boiling water, then sets the pot to a corner of the stove again. She looks her breakfast table over judgmentally, but deems it a meal.

Ritsuko peeks from the bedroom door and towards the bed. “Oh, you are awake,” she sing-songs. Misato says nothing; she is in the bed wrapped in a flower duvet, more for comfort than modesty or warmth. She looks young. Her fringe clings to her forehead when she casts her eyes to Ritsuko, who is upside-down to her now.

“I have breakfast - ” Ritsuko points over her shoulder “ - rolls from the bakery and some marmalade. Do you want for me to get them to the bed?”

Misato stretches her both hands out in a desperate plea. Ritsuko huffs out a laugh, but goes to the bed. “I have work today, you know,” she says, as she sits down on the bed and strokes Misato’s cheek.

Misato curls up and purrs, ”Coffee… and maybe… an aspirin?”

“Get a hold of yourself,” Ritsuko snaps, but it’s without venom; she pets Misato some more, absently untangling the messy locks. “Look, I have been thinking…” Misato turns to look at her, curiously. “Ah, nevermind,” Ritsuko says.

* * *

“Good morning,” Shinji says from behind the bar counter, doubling as receptionist’s desk.

“What, you again?” Asuka greets, yawning.

“Yes, I have a morning shift,” Shinji says and actually smiles a little. “Good to see you, Asuka.”

“Yeah.” Asuka is a little stumped at her name being remembered. She doesn’t _disagree_ with Shinji; it’s more like she doesn’t care. “Where’s… What’s the way to the bigshot’s farm?”

“Ah,” Shinji says, a little flustered at the question. “Just take the main street? There’s a sign pointing towards it in the northern end of the town.”

Asuka nods. She strides past the desk and into a table, where a waitress is quick to get her a breakfast plate. The sight and smell make Asuka’s mouth water; she’s damn happy she ordered it, instead of starving until her first lunch at the work she’s very likely to get. There are some hash browns, baked in butter; several thick slices of bacon; two fat sausages, grilled until half black and popping out of their skin; and a fair portion of beans in tomato sauce. It’s served with black, bitter coffee - just the way Asuka likes it. If this doesn’t get her until dinner… Goddamn.

The sun is going up, in the sudden way it does in the South; dust clouds shade the eastern skies and make the bright, golden sky to flush into countless shades of red, purple and teal, throwing a salmon-red shine on the buildings around and stretching shadows ten strides long. Asuka whistles on her way to the stables. She has to see her sweetheart.

“Hello, Lulu,” she calls, “did you miss me, darling?” The mare did; she greets Asuka with a little nicker and sniffs her all around, to see if there’s any snacks to be found. “Maybe you did, maybe you want pets and sugar cubes,” Asuka tells her, stroking her neck. “Let’s go, pun'kin, it’s all waiting, at the end of my ride.” She saddles Lulu, reins her, and buckles her bags onto the saddle. “Oh no you don’t,” Asuka says, when Lulu hopefully tugs her reins to reach for the hay storage, “it is a stable, not a pasture.”

They arrive outdoors. “Come on, I’m pretty sure you pulled that dumb little thing again,” Asuka says before bothering to swing into the saddle. “Ah-ha.” Asuka notices the cinch needs to be tightened once more, and she fixes it, pouting at her horse; and then they set to the road.

There’s little need to ask for directions after spotting the sign: “Castela Emoryi - Ikari Ranch”. So the rich asshole has given the name for not just his ranch, but the town, as well? Figures, really.

Asuka spurs her horse to lope out of town. Padada-pause, padada-pause, she listens to the sound that’s so frequent in her life now, it has become a constant. There is no one at the road with her; the sun is still rising, slightly to her right. The road is dry and rocky, surrounded by dusty ground and patches of grass. It’s like all the roads up the mountains. Mile after goddamn mile, no beginning, no end. It gives Asuka a sour mood. She reins the thought, like she reined Lulu, and starts defiantly humming Nelly Bly to herself. It helps, some. She starts to feel the wind in her hair, in her lungs.

When she reaches the chorus, “Heigh, Nelly, Ho, Nelly,” she’s bellowing at the top of her voice, and Lulu huffs and neighs angrily but lets her off the handle, because the old girl loves her, she does.

The rocky ground transforms into green grass; cacti and dry bushes become greenery, and at times she can see cattle pasturing at the distance. She lets Lulu slow to walk so they can admire it a bit.

They are now at the embrace of green hills around. The road curves around them to stay in the vale; the pastures are surrounded with sturdy fences to keep animals from vineyards and fruit orchards. It’s almost as though the dusty air around, itself, has become greener, damper - simultaneously hotter and easier to breathe. Asuka lifts her Stetson to wipe sweat from her forehead.

“Let’s go, girl, yap!” she tells Lulu, and they gallop onward to cross the green pastures; the shelters of various animals, sheep, hens, goats; until they reach a gate.

The gate is huge, made of pine logs, no fringy nonsense in. Well, not too much. A little, white flower has been painted onto the sign overhead, saying the same thing the little one in town did: “Castela Emoryi - Ikari Ranch” in bold letters.

“This is it, pun’kin,” Asuka says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Hey, boys,” Asuka calls to some farmhands in the farmyard, “I’m looking for the foreman, know where he’s at?”

“You’re talking to him,” one of the men says, a tall man with a dark, shoulder-length hair on a ponytail swished over his shoulder. “At your service, ma’am.” The smooth fuck tips his hat.

“Hold up.” Asuka climbs down in one smooth movement. “Okay. Mister…?”

“Kaji,” he says. “Ryoji Kaji.”

“No fucking kidding.” Asuka leans in a little and squints. “Ryoji?”

The foreman starts. “Asuka! Hell’s bells, it’s totally you. What brings you here?”

“Chance,” Asuka says. “The chance of my life. Gendo Ikari says you should find me a job.”

“Woah,” Ryoji says. “Slow down. Come to my office.”

* * *

She takes her sweet time talking to her horse and grooming her, before she lets her into a pasture with more calm mares to get used to her new herd, and the other way round. Lulu runs out to greet them immediately. Asuka laughs at her. Talk about being eager to make friends.

Ryoji knows Asuka knows her stuff, but because she’s new, has her stay on the sidelines nevertheless. Asuka argued, at first. “You are a lady; you have your own room,” he said, reasonably. “I need for my men to accept you willingly, so you need to earn your place. And you will. I know that much.”

So Asuka shovels the stables dutifully with young boys, answering to their attempts at discussion with glares and nosy remarks; she feeds the animals and carries water, oils the equipment, setting any that need repair to the side. When she has time from that, she stands at one side of the corral, looking disinterested as men train horses by riding them around the corral, spurring them and guiding them with their legs and feet to train them to obey the small motions and trust the rider in any conditions.

She drums her fingers on a beam, bored.

“Good morning,” a faint voice says. Asuka turns around.

Rei is wearing a cornflower-blue dress, today, with a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her from the sun. White gloves keep her hands from tanning. Asuka tips her hat; she is working for the lady, now, so she should mind her manners. Gendo appears to Rei’s side. “Good morning, Miss Asuka. Me and my daughter heard we had the honor of employing your services. Good news. I realize our manners were a little off, yesterday. My name is Gendo Ikari, and my daughter is Rei. She’d like it if you’d call her just Rei; she doesn’t have a lot of company of her own age.”

Asuka doesn’t ask why Rei doesn’t tell that herself, but she sure wonders that. “Will do, Mr. Ikari. How are you, Rei?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Rei says. She stops there, only looks at Asuka with those unnerving eyes of hers.

“I’ll leave you two alone for now,” Gendo says. “Have a good day, Miss Asuka. See you at dinner, Rei.”

“Yes, Father,” Rei says.

They stand by the corral side, wordless. Asuka musters up the courage to look at Rei. She has her back straight, looking into the corral, following the movement of the horses with her eyes. “Do you ride, Rei?” Asuka asks.

Rei turns to look at her. “I do not,” she says. “I can drive a cart, a bit.”

“I see,” Asuka says. They are silent again.

_I’m not good with this._

Asuka leans on the beam of the corral lazily. She’s drawing a blank. Why is this girl such a mystery to crack? Maybe she feels superior. That’s probably it, seeing as they are worlds apart. That milky skin compared to Asuka’s roughened, tanned one; the clear voice and refined accent against Asuka’s intelligible screaming. It makes her feel frustrated, inadequate. Asuka wants to kick her, suddenly, wishing for this meeting to end as soon as possible.

Well, then, if Rei thinks Asuka as a servant, why is she still here, standing at an arm’s length from her? _Go figure with these rich brats._

* * *

They step into Ritsuko’s bedroom and start ferociously making out against the door, all tongue and teeth, like touch-starved maidens. Grabby hands map waists, clothed curves of hips and asses, and Ritsuko runs her mouth along Misato’s neck, her open neckline, dipping as deep between breasts as the cut allows; Misato only encourages her, hands kneading in Ritsuko’s hair and running up and down her neck, with demanding strokes. They dance towards the bed, all the while tugging at the belts and buttons in each other’s clothing with shaking hands.

“I - _God,”_ Misato gasps at Ritsuko, who is pebbling Misato’s nipples with two gentle thumbs.

“Mmhm?”

“I reserved a time at Ms. Smith - Aah!”

“Getting a new dress, are we?” Ritsuko smiles, pecking a kiss on the bite that’s already vanishing into Misato’s skin. She gently squeezes and pulls Misato’s nipples now in a tantalizing pace, having Misato’s breath hitch.

“No, duh-dummy, I’m getting a new corset. With… clamps at the front. Can’t believe... I haven’t done that sooner,” Misato manages.

“Ah, that’s so convenient,” Ritsuko says.

“Yeah, she has gotten new models from Boston,” Misato says, ripping down her own drawers now, “They are exquisite, I’m telling you. Lace and… Oh, yes, please.” Misato has sat down on the bed, and Ritsuko is getting down on her, kneeling before her on the fluffy carpet and pushing her legs apart.

“This is what is exquisite,” Ritsuko tells her after taking her tongue off Misato’s clitoris. She replaces her mouth with her fingers while she continues, “I need to do the same. You in a pretty red one and me in nifty royal blue. Doesn’t that sound amazing?” She pushes her mouth back on Misato’s vulva and allows the finger slip further down, rubbing around the entrance in barely a touch.

“Yes!” Misato cries out. Ritsuko’s finger pushes in. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Ritsuko stretches her other hand to knead gently Misato’s inner thigh, then slides the hand to the other side to cup her ass. Her tongue makes little lapping movements, light and on point. Misato throws her head back and braces herself against the bed on one hand, letting the other squeeze her ample breast and tap and squeeze her nipple.

Wishing to draw out Misato’s enjoyment and make it fuller, Ritsuko runs her warm, wet tongue along the creases around Misato’s clitoris. Her finger maps out the warm, wet heat inside her vagina, rubbing along the ribbed walls in the slightest pressure. Misato sighs and lets out a gross sobbing sound, beyond all embarrassment.

Ritsuko puts in a second finger. Misato pushes against it, rocking her hips against Ritsuko’s relentless tongue, moaning and saying words like _God_ and _yes_ and others, hard to make out. Ritsuko rams in another finger, but pauses mischievously for a second, letting Misato rock against her and flail helplessly, before she pushes the fingers in hard and resumes lapping. Misato’s liquids overflow her and stain the sheets. Ritsuko looks through her lashes with keen interest, as Misato’s eyes fill with tears and her mouth, unable to form words, forms an “O”. Her arm half gives in, and she falls on her elbow; she’s too weak to manipulate her nipple, and she holds Ritsuko’s head in her hand, instead, as though afraid she’d slip away at the last minute. Misato comes, legs shaking; her vagina squeezes repeatedly around Ritsuko’s fingers that gently fuck her through the drawn-out orgasm.

Misato catches her breath for a while. Then she kneads into Ritsuko’s scalp with her long fingers. “Come up here,” Misato purrs,  “Here, cuddle with me.” She doesn’t seem to notice her sweaty forehead or slippery inner thighs. Ritsuko shuffles beside her and draws a sheet over their lower bodies. Misato pulls Ritsuko’s back flush against her content post-coital body, wrapping the hand under herself as an extra pillow and cupping Ritsuko’s breast with the other.

When they are just about to lull into a nap, Misato kneads the breast and drops a kiss on Ritsuko’s neck at the tips of the hair. She circles her fingers softly around the nipple, flicks a nail against the hardening tip, makes it go stiff throughout. Ritsuko giggles, and they both burst into a fit of laughter. Misato takes the chance to tickle Ritsuko. “No!” she yelps and curls into a ball.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Misato says, “I’m sorry. I’m making it up to you good, okay?” She smiles like a goof. “What you did to me just before was so perfect.” Ritsuko is on her back now, and Misato leans on top of her. She goes still: Ritsuko’s eyes have gone pondering.

“What is it?” Misato asks, tilting her head.

“Nothing,” Ritsuko says.

Misato gives her a blank stare.

“We need to talk,” Ritsuko says.

“You had your four fingers in my cunt thirty seconds ago and now we need to talk.”

“I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“What? And why the hell not?” Misato is starting to sound agitated.

“Please don’t start yelling… whatever you do, please don’t yell!” Ritsuko asks.

Misato draws a breath. “It’s not about getting matching corsets, is it.”

“No.”

She bangs the back of her head down onto the mattress - it bounces off the soft surface - and stares into the slanting roof. “So I can’t make you cum.”

“...No.”

“And we need to talk, immediately.”

“Soon as we can.”

“Oh, God. Do you have the French disease?” Misato asks.

“What? No. Where would I have gotten that?”

“From me?” Misato says. “Another illness?” She sounds genuinely concerned.

“No! Listen, I have a plan.”

“Coordinated undergarments?”

“God, just listen. We need to stop doing this.”

There is a pause. “I don’t understand.”

“I have a plan concerning my future. I’m not getting younger… I’ll hit on Gendo Ikari and marry him. But in order to do that, I need to keep my reputation spotless, which means, no messing around.”

“You’ll hit on WHO?” Misato has turned to stare at Ritsuko, who is still laying on her back motionlessly, but turns her head enough to look at her friend.

“I said I have a plan!”

“No! I don’t want to hear it!”

“Fine, if you don’t want to know, we can just stop doing this.” Ritsuko’s voice is soft, but serious.

Misato sits up, shaking. She crawls out of bed to get her chemise and fumbles around to find the rest of her clothes. “I… I guess keep talking.”

“School's out for summer soon.”

“Yeah,” Misato says, her voice cracking. She clears her throat.

“I’ll suggest that Rei should be sent to summer school, and given piano lessons. For therapeutic reasons, after losing her mother.”

“Oh, sheesh. You know how to play the piano?”

“I am an elementary school teacher, of course I do.”

“I can’t find my stocking.” Misato stands helplessly on the floor, not so much as trying to look around.

“It’s under the stool.” Ritsuko gets up from the bed; she picks up the fine, embroidered silk sock and gives it to Misato. While the other woman is putting on the sock, Ritsuko moves around the room to find Misato’s articles of clothing and neatly sets them on top of the stool for her.

“Is it…”

“Yes, Misato, what is it?” Ritsuko asks, gently.

“Is it my drinking? And the way I was this morning?”

Ritsuko turns to face Misato and seems to want to touch her, but decides against it.

“No. But I can’t say that your drinking wouldn’t be difficult for me to take.”

“ _You_ like drinking.”

“Sometimes. Or used to.”

“Will you lace me up?”

“Yes,” Ritsuko says, even more quietly than before. Her voice is completely even. “Turn around, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "French illness" refers to syphilis, the most feared STD in Victorian times. It's hard to read historical romantic novels without bashful references to it.


	3. Titillage & Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff is like porn, but better.
> 
> This chapter is long overdue, so again, thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Emetophobia warning for the first paragraph.

Misato holds her own hair in her hands and chokes on the sour taste at the back of her throat. She leans over the edge of her bed above the bucket she has ready. Her mouth fills with saliva, and she swallows. Her hands shake, and so does her body; she gets up from the bed. She couldn’t even throw up. Damn her stomach being too strong. Damn it all.

She reaches for the glass of water at the bedside table and drinks it up in huge gulps. She pours another glass from the jug on top of her vanity. It’s lukewarm, but tastes delicious. Her own miserable face looks at her in the vanity mirror: skin colored like wax, eyes red as chili pepper, bags under them. She pours some water in the washbasin and splashes it all over her face. She feels moderately less disgusting. Then it strikes her again. A numbing pain, one that heavy drinking and a hangover had managed to minimize.

For a moment, she tries to swallow it back down. Then she gives up, leaps face down on her spring mattress and breaks into helpless sobs.

There’s a knock at the door. “Misato? Are you in there?” a young man’s voice asks.

“Yes, but go away anyway.”

“I brought breakfast. You should eat.”

“No, go away!”

“Coming in now,” Shinji says and opens the lock with his skeleton key.

“Fuck you!” Misato retorts, but the edge has suffered badly from a harsh throat and a stuffy nose.

Shinji’s sleeves are up, and he’s wearing his waiter’s apron; he is carrying a tray of breakfast articles, his face definitely serious. “You keep nesting in here. It’s been, what, a week? You can’t live on water and potato chips, and like hell I’m going to let you live on tequila. You’ll feel a little better after you eat. It’s bacon and pancakes, and there’s some coffee and juice.”

He doesn’t leave room for argument, and Misato, exhausted and feeling terribly ill, caves in.

“I swear, you can be so stubborn sometimes, I don’t know what to do with you,” she sighs.

“Here, sit on the armchair. I’ll take the sheets to be changed and air the bed.” He sets the tray down on a side table across the room from the bed and takes Misato’s hand, moving to pull her up.

“You don’t gotta lug me around like a baby, Shinji,” she snaps. She wipes her face with her dressing gown sleeve - Shinji tactfully looks to the side - and shuffles from the bed to the chair. The sight of the breakfast has Misato perch up just enough to dig in, barely remembering to use a knife and a fork. Shinji moves to the window to let fresh air in, then to the bed to gather the sheets into his arms. He folds the blanket over and lets it hang on the headboard. This takes him a few minutes, during which Misato has time to furiously devour most of her meal, swallowing bites so big they lump uncomfortably on the way down. She is finishing up, when she looks at Shinji and notices he’s standing by the bed now, frowning, but he quickly scrapes up a smile when he notices he is being observed.

“That’s much better,” he says. “You know, whenever you want to talk about it…”

“Will you leave already?” Misato says, but her voice cracks, leaving her struggle for air.

“I’ll be checking on you at lunch,” Shinji says and leaves, sheets bundled in his arms.

Uh-huh. She isn’t _ready_. She draws her legs under herself and nests the coffee mug in her hands, listening to the minute agony it causes in her fingers before cooling.

“Shinji?”

He turns to look at her, one hand on the doorknob.

“So how in hell am I going to get her back?”

He seems confused. Small. _Please, don’t break down on me, not now._

“I… I’m pretty sure there is no way to force it, you know? People love freely, because they want to.” He looks away, not willing to make eye contact, and Misato is grateful again. She wishes all people talked while looking somewhere else.

“But… I know it feels like a bad idea now. But you can… you know.” He shrugs, and the pile of laundry shifts in his lap. “Be grateful for what you had, before. Maybe you will be, later. Maybe I’m all wrong.” He looks back to Misato, who closes her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Go,” Misato whispers.

* * *

Hooves tap on the corral sand. Star, a young brown corral pony, is riding it out with Asuka, with Lulu running lazy loops around to make the pony feel more at home. The sand is heavy to ride, and the pony will indubitably tire out, at that point giving control to Asuka, if the girl just can stay sitting on the light training saddle. And she can.

As there never was a horse that couldn't be rode, there never was a cowboy who couldn't be throwed. Star thrashes this way and that, and Asuka holds on with her legs for dear life; it is extremely tiring, but she is small and has a good balance, and besides has a certain sixth sense to predict which direction the young horse is going to bolt next. And finally, she is absolutely relentless. If the horse throws her off, she catches it right up, coaxes it to let her on saddle, and goes at it again.

Her worst trait in horse riding, just as in everything, is her impulsive nature. She has an audience, nowadays, and while it certainly strokes her pride the right way, it adds pressure. She is that girl who came out of nowhere, did her weeks of stable duties, was allowed on saddle - and immediately shone, like she was born on a beast. It can have improved her performance, at times, but at other times it pisses her the fuck off. Especially when a pair of ice-blue eyes and a striking dash of pale fabric and skin catches her eye in passing.

Star is starting to tire out and slows down. Asuka jumps off, gripping the bridle and running a few steps beside Star, who recognizes this situation as safe to come to a halt. “Alright, baby, it’s alright,” Asuka mumbles. She reattaches the reins nimbly to a more fitting position to walk him. They are both sweating and panting, Star huffing displeasure at the situation. Asuka whistles to Lulu, who walks to Star’s side and sniffs him, soothingly.

“That was a nice show,” Ryouji says.

“Hardly,” Asuka scoffs.

“Something the matter?” Ryouji asks discreetly, while he takes Lulu by the reins. “You next, Johnson,” he shouts to one of the men waiting behind the corral. “Be back in a bit.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnson agrees, when Ryouji and Asuka start taking their respective mounts towards the stables.

“Rei,” Asuka mumbles. “She’s looking again.”

“So maybe she’s impressed.”

“Why is she bothering me?”

“‘Bothering’ you? She was standing twenty yards away. Since when were you adjacent to attention, anyway?”

“What are you getting at, old man?”

“Nothing,” Ryouji says, huffing a laughter. “Old men have few forms of entertainment. Mine is teasing you.”

“Staring stresses me out. And it’s creepy.”

“You should talk to her.”

“Tried. She won’t talk back. Just ‘yes’.”

“Consider that she has her reasons.”

“That’s not going to help me find something to talk about, but thanks anyway.”

“Most welcome.”

They have arrived to the stables and Asuka stays there to tend to Star, while Ryouji just drops Asuka’s pony to a stable boy and leaves to his many duties. He cocks his hat at the two of them. “Seeya later.”

* * *

Asuka washes and brushes Star and feeds him carrots. He sniffs around her hair and tries to nip her shoulder, which Asuka immediately stops. “You gotta behave, friend. You’ll be the pride of the ranch, don’t act like a brat. Bye-bye now!”

“Where you going, miss?” the stable boy asks.

“Girls’ private matters.”

Farmhand days are long, and no two days really are like the other. More often than not, days stretch from before dawn to past nightfall, and breaks have to be distributed where it’s sensible to keep any. Asuka is no slacker, which the stable boy knows well, so he accepts the bathroom break explanation without argument.

Outside the door, Asuka sees something she didn’t expect. Rei teeters towards the building, her hands gloved, in a seafoam dress.

“Do you think it’s cool to trail people around?” Asuka asks.

“Excuse me?”

“You think it’s neat to spectate my work, as you never do any. Then you come to distract me in my few breaks and - and expect an autograph or something? Well, guess what, this is not Wild Bill Hickok Wild West Show, and I’m not an Annie Oakley or, god forbid, Sarah Bernhardt.” Asuka realizes she has raised her voice and is leaning forward, an accusing finger pointing ferociously at Rei, inches from her face. The girl stands there, without moving back from this intrusion to her personal space, looking at Asuka like she is talking about the fucking weather, like she hasn’t just yelled at her boss’ daughter, like there were jobs in the country a-plenty like pebbles on the beach.

And Rei doesn’t. Goddamn. Care at all.

_Ugh._

Asuka is not done being angry, so she crosses her arms instead and looks Rei down her nose.

Then she notices Rei wasn’t alone and blushes furiously. A half-familiar person stands at the shade of the roof’s eave, and of all possible faces, she looks like she’s trying to hide a smirk. Asuka can place her now: it’s the woman from town, the one she saw in passing in the stairs.

“My, my,” the woman says. “A little bit of a social faux pas, was that not?”

“Who the heck are you?” Asuka says.

“Oh, excuse me,” she says, “Ritsuko Akagi, Castela’s teacher. Nice to meet you, Asuka.”

“Right. Let me get back to work.”

“Wait. We have a request.”

Asuka cocks her hip. “Oh? You have my attention.”

“Show us your pony.”

* * *

“Remove your gloves so she can smell it, she doesn’t talk perfume. Like, at all,” Asuka snidely remarks. Rei, then, doesn’t seem to talk irony, and Asuka wonders why she is surprised; Rei simply complies, giving her bare hand to be smelled, thumb joined snugly with the fingers and turning the palm up, like Asuka just did. Lulu’s ears twitch with interest; she neighs contently and sniffs around the palm.

“Soft,” Rei says.

“Yeah, horse snouts are like that,” Asuka says, fondly stroking Lulu’s neck and encouraging her to accept the newcomer. It comes to her by nature by now, she notices. She is basically a horse. How fitting for thick-skulls like her.

“Hello, Lulu,” Rei says. “Nice to meet you. I hope we can become good friends soon.” She turns to Asuka. “May I feed her an apple?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Asuka says. This is very different from what she expected, and she has trouble understanding what is going on and misses Rei walking to a little barrel in a corner, where sour little apples are stored as treats for hands and horses alike. She hands it to the horse, and when Lulu again softly neighing bites into the treat, she breaks into a soft little smile. Her pale face is alight, as if it has become the home of an actual human soul. Asuka isn’t sure of her footing suddenly.

“Want to try riding her?” Asuka asks.

Rei seems confused at that. “I… Father says.”

“What does Mr. Ikari say?”

“She can’t be properly tamed.”

“She is eating from your hand, Rei. She’s tame. Just. I guess. If what I gotta do is teach you riding a little, there may be another, slow little pony who you can try first, but I see some real chemistry here. And besides, I’m gonna be right here, telling her to be on her Sunday best behavior.”

“If you want,” Rei says.

“Yeah. Let’s buckle her up. You do it, I’ll show you what you need. So what you want first is the bridle…”

* * *

“Okay, what’s the deal?” Asuka asks Ritsuko.

“The deal?”

“Everyone seems to decide that I need to be in charge of the girl. It is a nuisance. It needs to stop. What’s everyone’s deal? What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I am here for therapeutic purposes. I suggested Miss Ikari be sent to summer school to be taught the piano and other skills, but Mr. Ikari preferred to have her here instead. And, in addition, me.”

“Therapeutic purposes? Is she crazy or something?”

“Crazy?” Ritsuko laughs, a shrill sound that grinds Asuka’s ears. “Not at all. You have spent time with her. How does she appear to you?”

“Well… quiet and… somehow closed-off and…” Asuka trails off, struggling with trying to form vague ideas into thoughts.

“Yes, that is how I evaluate the situation, as well. She has been like that ever since the passing of her mother.” Ritsuko’s voice isn’t snarky now; it is soft and gentle.

Asuka has little to say to that.

Later that night, she lies on her bed, looking out of the window and thinking. In the ranch, all the cowboys and ranch hands get a lodging in a barracks of sorts, in sturdy double-bunk beds with hay mattresses. Everything is decently clean, with separate bathrooms behind the building. Asuka has a small room to herself, at the end of a hallway. She doesn’t really care either way, but at least the nights are quiet, with no snoring or midnight tours to the outroom.

She has to keep her head cool, for once, and not jump to conclusions. What Rei is is still not her business. Ritsuko is a meddling bitch; who knows her motivations? The proper thing to do here is to stay as cool and distant from Rei as possible in this situation.

And yet.

She puts her boots on and goes out into the night.

* * *

The main house is across the ranch yard from the staff lodging. It’s three storeys, more a mansion than a house, made of stone and plastered white; a porch runs the length of the facade, supported by pillars, and all windows at the front are framed. It looks like it was built around the civil war years, or sometime after.

It’s going to be on the second floor. Asuka climbs the ladder at the side of the house and gets to the top of the porch. She pads quietly on the tiles. One pair of windows is open; light, white curtains dance in the breeze. A little light is twinkling within. Asuka peeks inside. Looks like she needs to look no longer: this is Rei’s window.

“Knock knock,” she says.

“Who’s there?”

“Just me - Asuka.” She walks in through the French doors and looks around. Rei is sitting on her bed in a dressing gown, a floor length, white thing with layers of lace and tons of light-blue ribbons. Her room is large and surprisingly bare, and probably thanks to the maids, absolutely clean and faintly smelling of citrus. A candle, the one source of light in the room, is lit on the bedside table. It gives the room a mausoleum-like feeling. Asuka shrugs off the thought.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Asuka says.

“I don’t mind,” Rei says.

“I brought you a thing. There are lotsa these where the farmlands end and the dry plains start.”

Asuka hands her a branch. It’s a crucifixion thorn in bloom; it’s half fully-opened, half covered in fine unopened buds. The thorn tree looks ungodly, with nasty and sharp finger-long thorns, but the blossoming branch is pretty, its tiny white flowers carrying a nectarine smell. Asuka has removed thorns from a length at the base to not prick herself or Rei. She hands the branch to Rei.

Rei looks at the flower and back up at Asuka.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You are welcome. I should…”

“Please stay.”

Asuka’s face heats, but she’s pretty sure Rei can’t see her blush in the deep shadows of her room. It’s the first time Rei has expressed her direct will. “Alright,” she says. “You got something to put that in?”

Rei points at a tumbler on the bedside table. Asuka moves her hand to gently take the flower from Rei’s hands. Their fingers brush against each other; Rei’s fingers are cool and small and very, very soft. Asuka’s heart skips a beat. She stays there the flower with her hands like an idiot, until she gets a hold of herself and puts the branch in the tumbler. There’s a jug of water on the dresser; Asuka gets it, pours water for the flower, and puts the jug back, feeling clumsy and light-headed.

“Mother…”

Asuka freezes, her back to Rei, jug handle still in her hand.

“Mother liked crucifixion thorn flowers a lot.”

_Oh._

“She’s gotta have been quite the woman,” Asuka says.

“Yes,” Rei says.

It’s quiet again.

“So! You couldn’t sleep, then?” Asuka asks.

“I don’t sleep a lot.”

“Oh.” Asuka sits down on the floor at Rei’s feet. “It’s like me in my first days up the mountains.” She wraps her arms around her knees and ponders to the silence: “I had my bedroll, and I knew how to make some stones warm from a fire first, so you can sleep by the fire and the stones keep you warm after the fire goes out.” She huffs a laugh at the memory. “But the cliffs are just so hard and my back was terribly sore from the start, and a coyote called somewhere, and I was certain that I would die. It was one long night.”

“You must have been lonely.”

Asuka puts her head in her hands and watches at the candle, slowly burning with a halo around it, sometimes flickering and smoking in the draft of the mild night.

“I was. Very, very lonely,” she says.

“Hmm.” Rei’s hum could be sympathetic or something else. “Father named the ranch after the crucifixion thorn. Castela Emoryi is the Latin name.”

“I didn’t know that. He must have loved her a lot. You, too.” Asuka pauses. “I’m sorry. I’m bringing painful memories.”

“I don’t mind,” Rei says.

Asuka thinks that, for once, she has everything she wants in the world.

* * *

Sunday morning, the church bells toll and the congregation gathers to hear Lord’s words. Misato wakes up to the sound, her head still a little fuzzy, and shuffles to the window. It is quiet on the streets now, and the sun shines on the white church facade that appears striking against the bright blue.

Misato brushes her hair, for a change, and gets dressed in her regular maroon dress; she wears a black jacket on top of it and adds in a black hat and gloves. She isn’t one to go to church, usually, but she feels drawn to it today, feels like cleansing herself a little from her long cycle of eating, drinking, and sleeping (and feeling ill).

By the time she gets to the church, the sermon is over. She stays at the back of the church hall, where light gets in the tall windows, the stained glass window overhead casting the altar with a rainbow of color. The parting music is playing; Misato doesn’t go to church a lot and she certainly doesn’t recognize this piece - it is an air, far from the heavy hymns she is used to associating to the church service, much more elaborate and lively. It sounds like the person playing is making it up as they go, almost like jazz. It grows loud, at times, and diminishes into near silence back again. People pass Misato by on their way out; many take a look at her and turn their heads away, ready to gossip or judge her. She solemnly nods to any who greet her.

After the church hall has gone empty, and the usher turns off candles and quietly walks between the benches to pick up any hymn books left behind, Misato goes up the hall to the left of the altar. A prayer candle holder is there. It is a big thing of cast iron, shaped like a circle with a cross going across it, and decorated with elaborate rosettes.

There’s a collection jar and candles next to the candle holder. Misato picks coins from her purse, drops them in the jar and lights a candle from another. She doesn’t have a prayer. She isn’t sure of the existence of a god, and certainly not impressed by their work. But she feels a peace of sorts coming to her anyway, when she watches the candle come to light and start its fearless, unwavering journey into nothingness, in the joyful celebration and thanks of the organ air.

Without thinking much, she walks to the stairs leading to the balcony.

A young man, about Shinji’s age, is playing the organ. He appears to see no reason to stop, even though the congregation has already left and his time at work is seemingly over. He is very pale and very bony, his hair white or silver, his eyes closed despite the fact he has a sheet of music spread in front of him. His face isn’t showing concentration, as such; in its place, he bears a feeling of bliss, like he’s talking with the angels themselves. He is awfully cute.

He senses a presence and turns to smile at Misato. “Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning, sir,” Misato says.

“Oh, Kaworu, please,” he says. He seems to tie a knot to the song he is playing and spreads his hands across the keys to come into a conclusive chord, echoing harmoniously in the empty church. He gives Misato his hand to shake.

“Misato Katsuragi. Just Misato is fine, of course. I own the saloon across the street from here.”

“Oh, I know the place, but haven’t been there myself. I should come visit sometime.”

“I’d be glad to see you there!” Misato sees, to her surprise, it’s not difficult to smile welcomingly. “You are new in town, then…?”

“Yes. There isn’t a lot of need for organists, usually, so I have been a gardener and a cowboy, recently, to the West from here. They heard that the organist here was sick, so I came to offer my services. The parish is nice. I like it here.”

“That’s good to hear,” Misato says. “I admire your playing.”

“I’m glad.” His smile is light, no hint of embarrassment over the compliment.

Misato thinks she should encourage Shinji to go to church more often.

# Interlude

“How much, exactly, am I missing, Inspector?” Gendo asks.

“About ten thousand dollars in profits from American Bank, Investment Bank, and a few privately managed loans.”

“Do we have any leads?”

The inspector rubs his mustache in thought. “Not much, I’m afraid. The group was masked with scarves and loose clothing. Interestingly, though, the cargo driver says that the leader of the group was a woman. She thought it was a very young man, at first, by her voice, but then he paid attention to her figure. The loose clothing wasn’t enough to hide the fact.”

Gendo takes a drag of his cigar. “Any more information, Inspector?”

“She was leading a small group of men. The eye witnesses state that the woman was wearing loose clothing and a scarf in front of her face. A stetson was also covering her face, and it was already getting dark. But she was riding a paint horse, they say.”

“A woman… on a paint horse?” Gendo says. “That’s an interesting set of features.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duun


	4. Thorn in Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as I was ready to post, AO3 went down. But here we are! Put on some instrumental music, have a cup of tea, and enjoy!

On Friday evening, Shinji stands behind the counter, tapping his fingers against the polished wood. He sharpens a knife he uses for making fruit wedges to the drinks. He makes fruit wedges. He washes his cocktail shaker. He cleans the beer tab until the chrome parts have a mirror sheen… he’s totally bored.

So it’s no wonder he’s happy to hear the swing doors creak.

“Welcome!” he shouts to the newcomer.

“Hello,” a man says. “The lady of the house told me I should come and have a visit.” He’s a young man - Shinji’s age - but despite his age he has a very light hair. Shinji’s eye is trained to differentiate customers, and this man, by his way of walking, looks like a cowboy, but his skin doesn’t look the part - his complexion is smooth and very pale. In the spring of his foot and the graceful posture, one could see a powerful body.

The guest comes to the bar counter, looking around with interest. “Look at those chandeliers. They are beautiful. Just like the bartender.”

Shinji chuckles with laughter. “Why, thank you. You met Miss Misato, then?”

“Yeah, that I did. In church.”

“You must be the new organ player!”

“Yes. The name is Kaworu.” He gives his hand over the counter, and they shake hands. Kaworu’s touch is soft, firm, equally warm-hearted and gentle, and he looks at Shinji just a little longer than is customary. His gentle eyes make Shinji feel a little warm, despite himself.

“Hi, Kaworu. My name is Shinji, good to meet you. I heard you made an impression. Can I treat you to something?”

“Oh, that would be very nice of you. Surprise me, will you?”

“You got it.” Shinji starts mixing a Bourbon Sour. It’s a way to dunk some of the orange wedges he just piled up, and it’s one of those he makes best.

“You guys got a fine old thing in the corner here!” Kaworu points at the lonely piano beside the entrance. “It’s been a while since I saw one of these beauties.”

“Oh, you play the piano?” Shinji asks, while giving his shaker a handful of brisk swings. “Well, I guess it’s not so different to the organ, after all…”

Kaworu laughs. “It is and it isn’t. Can I take her for a quick ride?”

“Oh, by all means. The poor thing has been sitting there alone since the incident.” Shinji’s face goes serious, and Kaworu leans in, his grey eyes lit with interest. Shinji sees himself getting caught in their gentility. Kaworu seems to drink in all his words, like they matter. Like he isn’t just a servant or a mousy, uninteresting man; like he matters, like he has things to say.

He looks away.

“The… our pianist got shot before this year.”

“That must have been a terrible thing to witness.”

“Can’t say it wasn’t. But hey, the world is harsh at times, right?” Shinji dismisses the subject and finishes the drink, setting it in front of Kaworu. “Alright. Have a taste.”

Kaworu sips at the drink. “Oh, it’s great! The bitters bring out the orange zest just enough. It leaves an impression.” He takes the drink and sets it on top of the - slightly dusty - piano, gives the stool a spin on its height adjustment screw, until he’s pleased with it, and sits down, stretching his fingers a little.

Shinji watches him drop his fingers on the keys, carefully. A few tentative scales spring to life, and then he sets a swinging bass beat. Shinji’s eyes drop shut, when he starts a melody. It’s bright and happy, like a ray of light, but with a melancholy undertone, difficult to trace exactly. The fingers climb up into the heavens to drop sounds like a drizzle of rain, then they fade, as if into summer’s heat. It’s a little unclear when the melody gets a shift into another, very similar but different, more energetic, and the pulse of the bass responses. It has become a sea, waves crossing into each other seamlessly, and the mass of clouds break above it, letting a ray of light sieve through the surface and into the depth.

Shinji feels his face is warm and wet. He bats his eyes; he hasn’t realized Kaworu has stopped playing and was just saying something.

Shinji opens his eyes wide: “Oh! I don’t…” He wipes his face with his sleeves and blinks, dazzled. “I just…”

Kaworu looks at him, face slightly tilted; his grey eyes have a warmth in them Shinji isn’t entirely sure he can take.

“Are you okay?” he asks, softly, and he reaches over the counter. It’s something that usually protects Shinji and his bartender persona; a barrier of sorts, set by a physical barricade and an unspoken rule. But he can’t bring himself to tell Kaworu that his hand is trespassing, and Kaworu doesn’t realize it either in the moment - he just wants to comfort, to check on Shinji, and his hand softly lands on Shinji’s skin.

Shinji feels the moment stretch, and his stomach flip, when Kaworu’s finger, long and skinny but very warm, strokes his cheek. “Did I sadden you?”

“O-oh, not at all! It was beautiful! Thank you! You made me very happy.” He looks away, but doesn’t move to avoid the finger touching his face. “You made me forget… everything.”

Kaworu draws his hand back. “It’s good to hear that. I’ll play for you anytime.”

Shinji looks away. “Thank you for the offer. If… if it isn’t too much to ask,” he says carefully, “would you share another piece with me right now?”

“Of course.” Kaworu draws his hand away and moves to the piano to continue his performance. Another contemplative melody goes on to fill the hall.

When Shinji is preparing to close down the bar, late that night, someone is coming in against the flow of customers.

“We are closed!” Shinji tells the newcomer. “Oh! Hi, Kaworu.”

“I’m sorry to be of trouble,” Kaworu says. “Do you mind if I play again, a little, or should I come back tomorrow?”

“O-oh… Go ahead! Just let me close the doors.”

Shinji feels nervous now that he doesn’t have his role worn on his sleeve - or only the remnants of it; his sharp, white shirt, his black vest, and high waist black pants. He takes a stool beside the pianist’s seat and sits down on it. “Do you know this one song?” he asks and goes to the keyboard to play the higher part of a four-hand duet.

Kaworu doesn’t speak, just moves to sit at his side and jumps right in, completing the piece with its bass part. Shinji fumbles and misses a note or so, but continues on, and they play the song like that.

“I’m not very good…” Shinji confesses, after they finish.

“Oh, but that sounded great!” Kaworu says, smiling. “You have it in you. It was fun to play with you. Do you want to go again, or should I play for you?”

“I… I still have a little bit of work to do, I’m closing down,” Shinji says. “You go on ahead.”

* * *

 

Rei has snugly-fitting riding pants. They are paired with a form-fitting riding jacket, reaching just over her hips; the suit is well-cut and white and accented with blue. It’s a men’s outfit, but it also isn’t, because it’s been made for her.

She looks amazing, but Asuka is not telling her that; and contrary to what pretty much any other woman would do their first time wearing such an outfit, Rei doesn’t ask.

Girl isn’t one to talk much.

Asuka walks her through reining and saddling the horse; Lulu is a little fussy, because she can smell a lack of confidence from her new handler, so Asuka stays right close by telling her there’s nothing out of the ordinary here. She pats Rei’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Rei, you are doing really well,” she says. Rei nods. A faint flush of color, barely noticeable, livens Rei’s cheeks. Is she embarrassed? Cute.

_She is an heiress. Remember that._

They get on the saddle; Rei holds the reins comfortably already, familiar with a similar routine when riding a cart. They greet any people they meet with nods, and they turn into a cliffy road between a thick growth, palmy trees bowing overhead and forming a canopy for a cool route to ride. They gallop a little, when there’s a wide, straight passage in the road, but Asuka takes care to not lead them to rough terrain.

After the gallop, they and their horses are warm, and they slow to walk; Asuka gives a flagon to Rei, who dutifully drinks. The strain seems to not have caused her to sweat, and if she is out of breath, she’s hiding it. “Aren’t you tired?” Asuka asks.

“No,” Rei says.

Asuka shakes her head. “I don’t get it. I’m ready to believe you have superior genes.”

At noon, they arrive at a riverside. Their side of the river is the outcurve, where the riverbank is covered in sand. A huge tree grows in the middle of the shore, bowing towards the water in reverence. The water looks shallow from this side, but dips deep and dark towards the opposite shore, rocky and steep, but covered in thirsty growth, low bushes and trees. There are no signs of other people nor animals here.

“This looks like a decent place to let our horses drink, too,” Asuka says. She gets down. Rei follows without instruction.

“Let me; your boots will get wet,” Asuka says and reaches for Lulu’s reins.

“Allow me,” Rei says.

Asuka raises her eyebrows. “Sure, ma’am.”

Rei is slightly dazed, draws off her gloved hand, takes her other elbow in hand and looks away, her pose shy. “Are you teasing me?”

“Yes? I’m seeing if I can rile you up. Maybe make you laugh, who knows. I’m figuring you out.” Asuka has no idea where her words are coming from now. “You are cute when flustered, too.”

There it is again, and this time there’s no denying it in the bright sunlight - a faint dusting of color in her face. “Thank you.”

Asuka grins. “Here, take this.” She gives the reins to Rei. “She’ll get a little excited, but she’s not going anywhere from the riverside, so just let her lead for now.”

They let the horses drink and pasture. Asuka leads Rei under the huge cottonwood tree on the beach and spreads a blanket under it for them to sit down. The cook of the main house provided her with a lunch, so she takes it from the saddle bag and lays it on the blanket: it’s a chipa, an Argentinan worker’s midday meal, a quiche of sorts made of cornmeal and heaps of cheese. There’s also a bottle of house lemonade; two enamel mugs and plates; and a knife and two forks, for eating like decent people. Asuka cuts two bits of chipa and sets them on the plates.

Rei eats in mechanical, dutiful motions; she is sitting cross-legged, back straight and the plate in her lap, cutting precise squares of her lunch. Asuka leans on the tree with her legs stretched before her and the plate balanced on her knee. She takes her sweet time to finish her portion - she feels like she owes it to this moment. A towhee bird has started twittering in a mulberry tree across the river, marking its territory. It’s calm, but the water surface ripples in the low-speed stream, and the river shooshes somewhere far away.

When Asuka is done, she stretches her arms above her head. It’s warm, but the tree canopies overhead, blessing them with its cool shade.

“Riding sure gives you an appetite.”

“Yes,” Rei agrees. She has eaten most of her chipa - there’s only a few bites left - and now she finishes her lemonade with her usual ladylike elegance.

They sit in silence, and Asuka doesn’t mind it at all. It’s making her slightly drowsy. The river is pretty and relaxing in its shade grading from teal to midnight-blue, the ripples dancing on top of it. “I wanna go swimming. What about you?”

Rei hesitates. “I don’t have swimming clothes.”

“So what? There’s no one around. And _you_ of all people don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

There’s another pause, then: “Oh, I’m not ashamed, it’s just…”

Asuka feels the air go electric, and her previously-lulled body gathers the charge at the pit of her stomach where it dances like mad.

“Just…?” she whispers, voice cracking.

They have shuffled close, and their hands - Rei’s hand now naked for eating - lay on the rough woolen blanket right next to each other; their pinkies slide over each other, gently. It - feels good.

So good. Asuka thinks she’s slightly drunk; the lemonade must have been spiked with rum, her head feels light. Their fingers intertwine, and Asuka leans in until she can feel the warmth of Rei’s skin on her own face, the faint tickle of her breath. Rei’s eyes have drooped half shut, and her mouth is just barely open, and she works her lower lip with her teeth in an unconscious invitation.

Her lips feel small, soft, and moist, like some dewy petals, and she tastes like lemonade, but also like an exotic fruit. Their lips brush for a few seconds, and Asuka hears her heart pummeling against the ribcage in a riot. How in the hell she hasn’t tried this sooner? Rei intertwines their fingers, gripping like a vice, and their other hands interlock too, getting squished between their bodies.

_Again._

The next kiss is slightly deeper, mapping the shapes of each other’s mouths; Rei lets out a sound, a breathy little hum, and in a borderline out-of-the-body experience Asuka hears her own deep groan. She withdraws but kisses Rei right again, this time to find out how to get out another breathy sound, how to make the girl feel good. She gently nibbles a lip experimentally, and this proves to be an excellent idea. Rei hums contently, and her fingers twitch in Asuka’s hold. She nips Asuka’s lip in response, and it instantly becomes a game.

Rei withdraws and brushes her nose against Asuka’s. Asuka is content to be close, too. She laughs softly, warmly, and Rei laughs as well; a genuine, breathy chuckle, a sound as beautiful as the river and the towhee bird.

* * *

“And the Lord said,” the parish cited, “As long as the earth endures, / seedtime and harvest, / cold and heat, / summer and winter, / day and night / will never cease.

“I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever I will see the rainbow, I will remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.

“Amen. Let us rejoice.”

Shinji is sitting in the deserted organ balcony, holding hands with Kaworu; Kaworu’s eyes are closed, when he drinks in the parish’s words in contemplation. He lets go of Shinji’s hand and plays - whatever parts comes after bible reading. Shinji sits next to him on the wide organ bench and watches his fingers move in fascinating patterns; feels awkward, when Kaworu’s leg brushes against his when he plays the foot pedals. Starts, when Kaworu takes his hand again when he’s done; smiles, when Kaworu brings their intertwined fingers to his mouth and kisses them, with the same grace and respect he worships his God.

Kaworu is wearing a silver grey suit, and Shinji is wearing a black pepper one; both look happy and serene on their shared seat. Misato has walked up the stairs quietly, again skipping the boring parts of the service; Kaworu welcomes her with a smile and a nod, and Misato answers in kind, dignified as ever.

Misato’s dress, this fine day, is red, blue and white, with a little hat on her head with a golden star pinned on. She hands out to Shinji two ribbon brooches, fashioned into a striped pinwheel. “Thank you,” Shinji whispers. She sticks his own into his lapel and - carefully to not poke any keys in the organ - leans over to pin the other on Kaworu’s chest. He brushes it with his fingers, as if to make sure it is exactly right. Kaworu puts his own long, pale fingers on top of Shinji’s, just a brush; they leave the ribbon be, looking each other in the eyes, and their fingers intertwine.

They have turned slightly and face each other now, silly smiles on their faces, light from the stained glass window dancing on the muted tones of their suits. Kaworu leans in, and Shinji meets him halfway, when he places a kiss, soft as a feather, on Shinji’s lips.

Misato sits down in a wooden seat close by and watches the two men holding hands. Kaworu’s eyes have closed, and his face is in the barest of smiles. Shinji looks at his hand in Kaworu’s. Misato reaches for her purse, gets out a napkin, and taps herself carefully under the eyes.

* * *

When Asuka has time from her stable work and horse schooling, she takes Rei to a ride again.

Asuka is proud of her student - Rei’s riding improves steadily, and riding and stable work do good to her health. Her beautifully formed arms and legs flesh out and become drawn out when she rides, her lithe body now packing compact muscle.

They have plenty of time on 4th of July morning. Not all major employers celebrate by giving a free day to the employees; but it’s a convention here in the countryside, just after the necessary daily jobs of feeding and tending to animals is done. Mr. Ikari wants for everyone to take the best of it, and figures it’s best done if they attend to celebrations in town.

Once again, they go to the riverside to have a picnic - like most times, they sit quietly, watching the river glisten in the sun, and listening to the songbird while having lunch. Rei sets her head against Asuka’s shoulder and takes a nap, and the cowgirl doesn’t dare move a muscle, just carefully moves her hand around Rei’s waist to support her.

They get back to the farm for the afternoon. The summer has been ticking away, and is now at its finest. It’s a busy day; the Union Flag waves overhead; the garden has been made in top notch order; streamers decorate the poles around the gate and the main house’s doors. Carriages are waiting in the yard to carry people to town for fireworks later at night.

The celebrations start with sounds of gunshots - people carrying guns scatter in equal distances along the main street and, to the sound of the church bell, all shoot at once in a deafening bang carrying throughout town and cause starkly-smelling clouds of gunpowder smoke to drift in the air. People cheer. In town square, a stage has been built, decorated all over with striped fabric. It’s delightful, with fresh flowers, each corner decorated with a little pine chopped from the woods and carried to place the previous day.

First to say a few words is the parish, who asks for the audience to say words of prayer. Then the mayor reads the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. There’s a small band constructed, so next is a musical number; and then people take to eating and drinking.

Asuka is slightly tipsy from the offerings of the communal table. She brings a drink to Rei, who hesitates and tastes and makes a face; Asuka laughs at her and Rei defiantly drinks up. Asuka grasps her hand and takes her to square dance. Two alleys have been formed, and a violin and a harmonica play as loud as they can on stage; and a young man sing-shouts instructions to the dancers - luckily, they are quite easy. Asuka laughs at Rei when she’s left behind, and Rei pokes her.

Before long, they end up into the middle, as the central couple. Rei, usually self-contained and cool in complexion and behavior alike, looks taken aback, when Asuka here - in public - takes her boldly by the arm and whirls around, sunk in the rhythm. Encouraging shouts ring from the audience. “Beautiful, Miss Ikari!” “Nice moves, Asuka!”

They break apart again from the band’s command, and Asuka giggle-snorts helplessly when they struggle to pry their arms apart and get back in line.

They take a break and, panting, go to have a glass of water. Asuka bothers Rei until she downs another small glass of beer. A boy approaches them. “A message for you, miss,” she says to Asuka.

“What is it?” Asuka asks.

“Your friend wants to meet with you in the saloon.”

“A friend? I guess I must go then,” she says. She sets down her tin mug - the sensible organizers have forgone glasses just in case - and turns to Rei. “You can go right back to dancing,” she says. “See you in a bit.”

The place is crowded when she enters, and a boy plays the piano with abandon. Shinji smiles to her from behind the counter while serving cowboys. Asuka figures she’ll have to take Rei here, at some point, tonight.

“Asuka, go to the office,” Shinji says, pointing with his thumb behind himself.

Asuka crosses the crowd and steps in. The shutters are closed, but there’s a lamp on the desk. A man behind the counter is pointing his pistol at her. “Good evening, miss. Close the door, sir, please,” he says.

Asuka freezes. “What the hell is going on?” she says. She puts her hands up. Behind her, a man moves to close the door - effectively trapping Asuka into the room with two armed men.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Asuka rashly demands to know. “Who in all hell are you?”

“He’s with law,” a familiar voice comes from behind Asuka. Asuka keeps her hands up, but jerks her head to see who it is. “Excuse me.” Gendo Ikari moves in to remove Asuka’s gun belt and, while at it, pat her down for extra weapons.

“Mr. Ikari? Is this some kind of a joke?” Asuka demands. “Well, it’s not funny, to say the least!”

“This is far from a laughing matter,” Gendo tells her; he removes a knife from her jacket pocket with firm, careful hands.

“I am Private Inspector John Burnes, at your service,” the man behind the desk says. “I have a few questions I want to ask you, Miss.”

“Have I a choice?”

“I’m glad to hear you cooperate,” Burnes says, coolly. “Where were you Thursday evening, from approximately six to ten PM?”

Asuka notices her hands are shaking, and makes a point to concentrate on her breathing to ground herself. “At work, probably. How am I supposed to remember that?”

“That paint horse you ride on; it’s yours, I reckon?”

“Of course it is!”

“You are often seen taking your horse for a ride to the plains after a work day. Where do you go?”

“Just for a walk around! What are you getting at?”

She gets a sharp look from the inspector’s side. “Hold on a moment. I’ll spell it out for you. A horse carriage was robbed on way from Los Angeles, carrying passengers and a carriage, specifically gold. It arrived in town around ten. Its load had been robbed.”

“Robbed? What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to it. The band of thieves was lead by a woman, riding a paint horse. I’m going to ask you straight. Do you have an alibi?”

“I was with Rei!” Asuka tries to keep her voice even, but it goes high and shrill.

Gendo butts in. “I’m afraid you weren’t, as I went to dinner with my daughter at seven, and her maid saw her to bed around nine thirty.”

“Asuka Langley, I arrest you for armed robbery. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.” She is handcuffed swiftly and led on by Inspector Burnes, through the crowd in the saloon hall, where Rei has just entered through the swing doors and stares at Asuka, her sapphire eyes blown wide at the three persons moving to pass her by.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for any comments and kudos in advance!


End file.
